


do or do not (do the do)

by crossingwinter



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Hello this is a crackfic, Masturbation, Mild Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Post canon, Prosthetic Limb, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: In which Ben, in an effort to improve his stamina (look he's making progress, ok?) after reading some articles that he'll never be able to unread, receives some coaching (that he very much did not ask for).(Very much did not ask for.)





	do or do not (do the do)

**Author's Note:**

> some people?? write porny crack?? to cope??
> 
> (thanks jeeno for betaing this; thanks to ytc for making [this art](https://twitter.com/crossing_winter/status/1114655513696976899))

“Spend a little time there,” his mother had said. “Lie low.   Let the galaxy come to accept.”  _ Come to accept yourself _ .  

Which is how they end up on Naboo, him and Rey.  She’s still very much recovering, getting used to that new leg of hers, and the scarring on her back isn’t as bad as they’d feared.  Ben would help if he could, but he’s never had the control required for Force healing. She tires quickly, and leans on him more than she’d like, even if they’re both comforted by one another’s presence.  They’re here, they’re alive, they’re together.

They spend two weeks in the Lake Country.  That’s where they have sex the first time—first on the bed that had belonged to his grandmother, both of them tearful messes by the end of it—and then again in the lake itself, the warm waves lapping all around them as their sighs and groans echo across the water.

By the end of those two weeks, Ben’s pretty proud of himself.  Not that he’s counting—except that he very much is—he’s gone from lasting about seventeen and a half seconds before coming so hard his vision whites out to lasting a whole six minutes.  He doesn’t really know what an acceptable duration is, but he is pleased. Proud. Not that duration and pleasure have anything to do with one another. Oh—he’s careful about making sure that Rey—that she—the things she’s suffered because of him, he won’t  _ not _ let her come or anything.  God it feels amazing watching her fall apart.  But he wants his own pleasure to last longer. Like six minutes feels incredible,  but he’d like at least ten. 

They walk around in the sunshine.  They kiss lots. They canoodle on family heritage furniture.  And then, two weeks later, Rey says, “I’d like to see a city.” 

So they go to Theed and spend a few days wandering through the streets and kissing on street corners.  Rey gives him a handjob under an archway and it echoes even louder than over the lake when he groans. Luckily he doesn’t think anyone sees them, but he’s less certain about the hearing part.  

They eat a lot of really good food, Rey’s face shining with delight the more that she eats, and they get up to a whole eight minutes before he collapses on top of her and loses himself in the perfection of her flesh.

It’s going great, if he does say so himself.

And then, about a week into their stay in Theed, everything changes.

 

-

 

Ben doesn’t believe in fate, but he does believe that the Force moves in mysterious ways.

They take themselves to a history museum devoted to Padme Amidala Naberrie, his grandmother—the one whose bed they’d first had sex in.  Ben knows some about her already, but this is the first time that Rey is encountering her. “Man, she had style,” she whispers, pointing to a series of holos devoted to Padme’s wardrobe.

“She did,” Ben agrees.  

“Who’s that?” Rey asks.  For a moment, he thinks she’s pointing to the holo of his grandfather, who appears as a silent protecting shadow a few times.  But no—no she’s pointing to—

“That’s….” Ben checks the information plate.  “Jar Jar Binks. Former Senator of Naboo.” He looks down at the little map he’s holding.  “There’s a section on Gungans on the third floor if you’re curious. They live under the lakes.”

Which is how they end up in the Gungan section.  There’s a statue of Jar Jar Binks, and Boss Nass, and a miniature version of Gunga City.  He and Rey read through every informational plaque that they can find.

_ Did you know?  Gungans have six times the lung capacity of humans.  Gungans are known for their extreme breath control used in swimming, meditation and prayer, athletic activities and sexual practice. _

Ben freezes.   _ Sexual practice? _

He didn’t want to know that.  What does that even mean? Why is that even on a plaque in a museum?

That night, after he lasts a full eight minutes and four seconds and Rey is curled up asleep next to him, he pulls out a holo pad and does some searching, and what he finds out…

Well, there’s no coming back from reading four different academic web articles about Gungan style sex, Gungan style fellatio, cunnilingus, and analingus—because they have very strong and flexible and moist tongues.  There’s just no coming back from it. Especially when he reads that it’s not abnormal for Gungan males to have sex for eight hours before coming.  _ Eight hours. _  He’d felt proud of eight minutes.

Clearly he’s got work to do.

Which takes him down a porg-hole of articles about  _ how to have sex like a Gungan _ , all of the advice for which sounds eerily familiar.

That’s when he hears a shrill and delighted giggle behind him and he reacts so quickly, summoning his lightsaber to his hand and looking around.

“Careful, careful,” croaks the creature, glowing so brightly that he illuminates the room, casting a—not a shadow, the light version of a shadow—of his long pointy ears right on the bed where Rey is—somehow, thankfully—still asleep.

“Master Yoda?” Ben asks slowly.  He’s never met the Jedi master, just heard Uncle Luke talk about him as though he shat gold.

Master Yoda giggles delightedly again.  

“What are you doing here?  I’m not a Jedi.”

“No,” agrees the Jedi Master.  “A Jedi you are not. But strong with the Force, and no longer lost to the dark side.  So long as you learn control.”

“Is now...really the time?” he asks, flipping the holopad over so that Yoda won’t see the article titled  _ Twelve Ways To Make Your Tongue As Flexible As A Gungan’s. _

“Yes.  Now, the time is.  Like your uncle you are: you must learn control.”

“I have control,” Ben snaps.  “And I don’t need to be like my uncle.”

“Control in all things, hm?” Yoda asks.  “Control in breath, in feeling, able to make eight minutes last a lifetime.”

A chill goes up Ben’s spine.  Just how much had the Jedi Master been watching?  

 

-

 

“It’s hard to do this with you watching,” he grumbles.  

Rey is out and about.  She’d wanted to go dress shopping—something about wanting to have something nice to wear at formal celebrations that they both are very sure his mother will drag them to.  (She’d gotten  _ a lot _ of credits from the Resistance for services rendered, and Ben’s honestly excited to see her spend them on something nice.)  But she’d been a little...hedgey about him joining her. “I want to surprise you,” she’d said, peeking up at him through thick lashes.  Oddly shy. Rey’s the least shy person he knows. What do they have to be shy about at this point? But if she wants to go off on her own, he’ll see her in a few hours.

And apparently, he has to learn control.

“Control, control, you must learn control.  Control your breathing,” Master Yoda had told him as he had taken his cock in hand.  “Without control, there is no balance. Without balance, lose yourself to the dark side you will.”

“I don’t give a  _ poodoo _ about the dark side and the light,” Ben says.  All this conversation about the Force is sort of killing his hard-on.  And not in the  _ but then you can make it last eight hours _ sort of way.  

“Except that control will help you last longer,” Yoda croons.  “Too much darkness and to your passions you will lose yourself; too much light and nothing will you experience.   _ Balance _ .”

“Can you turn around?” Ben asks through gritted teeth.  “You’re throwing my balance towards the light.”

The only response he gets is another giggle and he swears he feels himself deflate a little in his  hand.

 

-

 

“How’d it go?” he asks Rey when she gets back.

“What?  Oh—it was—it was fine.”  She flushes a bit. 

“Can I see?”

“I didn’t get anything,” she says.  “They’re—they took my measurements and told me to come back later.”

She’s pink as a plom bloom.

“What?” he asks her.

“Nothing,” she says too quickly.

“It’s not—”

“It’s just very—I don’t know.  It feels too fine for me. Dresses like that are for Padme Amidala, or Leia Organa, not a scavenger from Jakku.”

Ben frowns.

He has no idea why she’s saying this.  “You’ll look beautiful,” he tells her.

She gives him a derisive look.  “I know that,” she replies. “It’s not that I don’t think I’ll look good, it’s that it doesn’t...fit.”

“But they’re fitting you?” he frowns.

“Forget it,” she mutters and tries to brush past him, but he grabs her arm and pulls her towards  him, because he did get there in the end. He thinks.

“It’ll fit you because you’re wearing it.  You wear the clothes. They don’t wear you.”

“Yes, but I don’t wear clothes like that,” she mutters.  “That’s the point.”

“So there’s a first time for everything,” he says, his lips brushing the shell of her ear and he feels her trembling in his arms.  “And I can’t wait to see you wearing it.”

They kiss a lot, and make their way up to bed and Ben’s ready to put what he practiced into action except—

Except all he can hear is that delighted giggle and every time he thinks he does—intermingled with Rey’s sighs—he starts to lose it a little.

This is not what he wanted.

He’d rather be done in four seconds than to see Rey’s face as he loses his hard-on inside her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

And because he is caught figuratively—though also literally—with his pants down, all he can say is “Master Yoda.”

And yeah—he definitely hears that giggle for real this time.

 

-

 

Rey’s eyes go wide as she reads through the articles.

“Ok, but eight hours sounds exhausting,” she says.  

“I wasn’t shooting for eight hours,” Ben lies.

“Good, because going from five minutes—”

“Eight minutes.”

“—to eight hours doesn’t seem feasible.”  She looks at him. “I love you and I haven’t been dissatisfied or underwhelmed.  You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Ben says, not lying this time.  She’s been very obviously very satisfied.  “It’s more…”

He can’t explain it.  Like, he doesn’t want to admit that that article titled  _ Nabooan men do it better: Learning from the Gungans  _ had sort of struck a nerve because he is, technically, one quarter Nabooan.  He really doesn’t want to admit it. 

More likely, though, that  _ like your uncle you are  _ had gotten under his skin.

“It doesn’t need to be eight hours,” he says, because Rey—brave, ever-pragmatic Rey—is right: that does sound kind of exhausting.  Although it also sounds exhilarating. And it’s not like he’s not built for war, he could totally do it for eight hours. 

“Good, because I’m not sure  _ I _ could last for eight hours.”  Oh, the mental image that gave him.  His dick twitches in his pants.  _ Oh, so now you want to,  _ he thinks angrily at it.  

“Still—more than eight minutes wouldn’t be bad though, right?” he asks carefully.  Because the only thing that would make him stop trying this is Rey saying  _ eight minutes is perfect never more  or less than eight minutes please.  _

She turns pink again.  

“Longer than eight minutes might be nice,” she concedes.   

 

-

 

“It’ll be great,” Ben tells her, pressing a kiss to her lips.  “You’re going to look great. And it will fit you.”

She disappears and Ben takes the memory of her lips up to the bedroom, where he strips his pants down his legs, flops onto the bed, and takes himself in hand again.

“Don’t,” he tells the Jedi Master (who is not actually there this time) as he takes a deep breath and begins to pump himself.   Rey’s lips. Her body. The way her breasts will look like in one of those fancy Nabooan dresses—the queenly raiment that he’d seen on that holo of his grandmother.  Rey, and how warm and soft and wet she is. Rey and how she’d cried the first time they’d done it, how she’d held him and how he’d seen a future with her again. Rey and her mechanical leg, Rey and  her calloused hands, Rey—Rey—Oh fuck he’s too close and—

“Control, Ben.”

His eyes fly open. 

This time, it’s not Master Yoda sitting there staring at him.  The man in the long Jedi robes is older, has a trim white beard, and is purposefully not looking at him.

“Who are—” he begins.

“You can call me Obi Wan,” he says, “Though your uncle and mother knew me as Ben.”

Oh.

Great.

His namesake is sitting with him while he masturbates.

That’s just the sort of life he’d imagined for himself.

“Master Yoda implied you might need some help.”

“I don’t need help,” he grits out.  “I’m  _ fine _ .”  Rey said that eight minutes was fine.  But she also wouldn’t say no to more. Even if eight hours is too much.

“What do you...think about, when you’re doing this?” Obi Wan asks.

“No offense, but I really don’t want to be talking about—”

“I ask because it can be an extremely meditative act.  Jar Jar frequently discussed the matter in terms that reminded me of meditation and—”

“I was always bad at meditation,” Ben grits out.  “Just ask my uncle.”

“It is meditative, but it is not meditation,” Obi Wan interrupts.  “You should be aware of your breathing, of your surroundings, but you shouldn’t lose yourself to—”

“To the dark side—yeah.  Master Yoda said as much.”

“I was going to say to the other.  It is an act of pleasure, but part of what makes the inevitable…” he searches for his words and Ben tries really really hard to pretend he’s not there for those few moments of silence, “end of it all so inevitable is the losing of the self to the other.  In order to last, you must not forget yourself. Perhaps that will help.”

“What will probably help is all these Jedi not giving me advice and filling my head with—”

“Of course, I know it’s distracting,” Obi Wan says with a mild chuckle.  The chuckle is worse than Yoda’s giggle, in all honesty. “But I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think it was worthwhile.”

“How is helping my stamina worth while?”

“Because you and Rey bring balance to the Force—and this is an act born of that balance.”

“So the more Rey and I...you know…” He can’t say it.  Not to his fucking namesake, this mild-mannered man he has never once spoken to and who is now talking to him while he masturbates.  “The more balanced the Force will be.”

“From a certain point of view,” Obi Wan replies.

“From your point of view?” Ben growls.

“Yes,” Obi Wan concedes. “Please don’t stop.  And it would probably be good if you lasted longer than two minutes.”

“I’m up to eight.  Yesterday does not count.”

 

-

 

Rey comes back to the apartment they’re staying in as the sun is setting.  Ben’s sitting in the living room, and gets to his feet as he hears the door open. 

“How’d it—” but his breath catches in his throat.

Rey has always been the most beautiful person in the whole galaxy to him.  From the very first moment he saw her in the forest on Takodana, the stars burn a little more brightly because of Rey.

The gown is beautiful—flowing silk that fades from white to grey to black that flows around her legs. The neckline dips low and the sides of her breasts peep out of the white fabric.  Tempting. Delicious.

“It suits you,” he says when he finds a voice.

“I still feel like someone dressed up a porg,” she says. “I don’t think I could wear this every day.”

“No,” he agrees. “Not functional at all.  But it suits you.”

She bites her lip. “And you’re not just saying that?” She asks.

“Why would I be just saying that?”

She smirks. “Because you’re half-hard right now.”

“I am frequently half-hard when looking at you.”  He’d been packing a semi as he’d carried her through the woods and it had never really stopped.

She laughs.  God she has the most beautiful laugh. “I suppose that is true.”

He doesn’t peel her out of her dress right away.  Oh no. He pulls her into his arms and kisses her and steers her into the bedroom and lays her across the mattress.  Then he pushes the skirt up to her hips and tugs her underwear down her legs and kisses her between her legs.

And if he is thinking about that Gungan tongue article while he’s doing it—well—it pays off because it is not long at all before Rey is moaning and writhing, her back arching off the bed as he teases her.

She lasts less than eight minutes.

Which doesn’t mean he’s won or anything, except he has totally won—on two fronts.

Especially when he pauses to catch his breath—no matter what he does, he will never have the lung capacity of a Gungan—and sees that she has pulled her breasts right out of the neckline and is twisting at her nipples.  

She takes the dress off and even goes so far as to go hang it up before coming back to bed.  Then she straddles his hips and kisses him silly and it’s her hand around his shaft this time as she prepares to pull him inside her.

_ You must not forget yourself. _

_ Control, control, you must learn control. _

He is Ben Solo and if he loses himself in Rey forever there are worse ends.

Except eight minutes isn’t nearly long enough.

So he breathes.  He concentrates, he memorizes the softness of her, the exact bounce of her breasts as she moves over him.  He is one quarter Nabooan and he can last longer than eight minutes. . 

So he breathes in time with her motions, long and deep and slow.  In and out, the air; in and out his dick. He can feel every inch of her; he can feel every particle of oxygen.  The room is dark now, which makes Rey seem to glow like the moon above him, glow in a different way than those two—

No.  He’s not going to think about them.  He’s just going to think about Rey.

Rey and himself, and the way that her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are closed and he’s  _ not _ losing himself in her this time, he’s not.  He’s not.

Except that he totally also is.  He rolls them over so that he’s in control of the pace and groans because this angle means he can go deeper, and those long, deep strokes and long deep breaths are only gonna go so far like this—especially when Rey reaches up and starts playing with his hair.  

He lasts nine minutes, then ten, and he’s on his way to eleven before the first giggle fills his mind.  He knows it’s his mind because Rey doesn’t hear it, doesn’t react to it at all. 

And if it’s all in his mind, well.  Maybe it’s not just his  _ dick _ he can practice controlling.

_ It is a meditative act,  _ Obi Wan had said, and he lets go of the memory of the laughter, focuses on his breathing, on how fucking wet Rey is, and how she’s trembling underneath him again, as though she’s going to—

She comes a second time, her muscles contracting around him, gripping him, pulling him deeper, and it’s all he can do to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head about it.  Rey’s whimpering and arching towards him, her breasts rubbing against his chest, and when she’s done she pulls his head down a little bit so she can nuzzle contentedly into the crook of his neck.

Ok.  Ok he’s lasted thirteen minutes and through Rey’s second—second!—orgasm.  This is good. This is progress. He could let go, couldn’t he?

But he doesn’t.  He’s holding on for dear life, kissing the side of her face, desperately hoping that no Force Ghosts appear, and that he’ll last and last and last.

He lasts another four seconds, but that’s ok.

Fourteen minutes is nothing to shake your nose at.

Fourteen minutes with Rey looking up at him like the way she’s looking at him now, like their future is solid, and clear—that’s better than lasting eight hours.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed ~~and aren't too traumatized thinking about Gungan sex you're welcome~~! You can find me on [pillowfort](http://pillowfort.io/crossingwinter) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/crossing_winter).


End file.
